Page 66 of Sing For Us

Nobody tells you how daunting it is to wait on news, especially if you are alone. The families in the waiting area have somebody with them, too. People are holding hands, making small prayers, and hugging each other. The only thing I am doing with my hands is letting them hang between my parted legs.

My tears have dried up at this point, and my blank stare isn’t registering anything. I’m just existing. Everything feels hollow inside of me—the rage is gone, critical thinking has vanished, and my thoughts are empty.

There is nothing and no one here to keep me grounded, or to hold me, so I try to focus on what I can see and perceive as factual.

I see harsh fluorescent lights, I smell something antiseptic, touch an empty coffee cup beside me, and I hear the clock on the wall moving painfully slow. But it doesn’t change the fact that I am waiting on news that can either devastate me or make me happy.

The only thing left to do is to wait.

Tick.

No news.

Tock.

Two hours have passed.

Tick.

Have I been sitting here for three hours?

Tock.

Coffee time.

Tick.

Five hours. It’s almost three o’clock in the morning. Maybe I should…

“Sweetheart, I hope I am not interrupting, but do you want to eat something?” a kind voice asks me. I look up and see an old, sweet lady sitting down next to me with four sandwiches.

I nod at her. “You are not interrupting. My name is Lana, what’s your name?”

She smiles and hands me two sandwiches. “Mrs. Ina Jovanovic. Eat up, dear.”

I munch down on the two sandwiches she gave me, as she also eats. You can tell they are homemade and not something from the cafeteria. When we are done, I take our trash and dump it in the trash can. When I return to my seat, I thought she would have gone on her merry way—but I am wrong.

She stayed.

“I have been watching you here for quite some time. How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?” The default answer rolls off my tongue easily, but Ina sees right through me. Years of wisdom have probably taught her how to really see people.

“You can’t lie to me. I see beyond the eyes, and I notice you are hurting. Who are you waiting for?” she asks me.

“My best friend is having brain surgery. Are you waiting for someone here?” I question her while I take a strand of my hair and play with it.

Weird. I haven’t done that in a while. I think I was a child the last time I did that.

“I’m not waiting on anyone; I am actually a cleaner here.” I make a surprised face, and I throw her an appreciative nod. Housekeeping and custodial staff in any working environment are not nearly as appreciated as they should be.

“So you have seen some stuff, huh?” She huffs in response to my question and nods.

“I have. Good and bad stuff. If I may ask, why are you not here with anybody?” I think it would have hurt less if she had shot me. I place my elbows on my knees and run my hands through my hair, and then I nervously start scratching the back of my neck.

“I have pushed him…euhm… I mean that I have pushed everyone away because I wanted to prove a point.” This lovely lady doesn’t need to hear that I am a murderous bastard. She leans back in her chair, crosses her legs and arms, and now she is giving me an are-you-serious look.

“Lana” I nod at her, enamored by her boldness. “Whom have you pushed away?”